


Daredevil Drabbles

by CrazyCranberry



Series: Daredevil Drabbles [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff and Crack, Fluff without Plot, I Suck At Writing Smut, I just can't do it, I wish I could though, M/M, Mattimir, So much angst, implied sex, many chapter, much feel, multiple pieces, there is sadness too, this is just shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:16:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4546362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyCranberry/pseuds/CrazyCranberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daredevil TV, AU's.</p><p>This work will consist of various pieces, all centering around Mattimir. Plotless, shameless fluff, as well as heart wrenching angst, will abound. I hope you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Food Will Keep.

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless, plotless fluff between the STILL ALIVE (I refuse to believe otherwise) Vladimir Ranskahov, and sweet cinnamon bun, Matt Murdock. Just a lazy afternoon in Matt's apartment, filled with Vladimir's complaining and his seemingly insatiable sex drive.

“Your beer is shit– so is couch.”

“You’ve had no problem with _either_ the past few weeks–”

“I was busy– not important then. Important _now_.” Matt rolled his eyes as he listened to Vladimir rifle through the fridge, the man growling lowly in Russian every time he found something especially unappealing. Matt would swear seven ways to Sunday that the low rumble Vladimir made in the back of his throat had no effect on him– none whatsoever. Matt scoffed and leant back against the wall, debating on whether or not to go and retrieve a shirt. He’d had no time to grab one this morning, because a loud crash had rung out through the apartment, causing him to shoot straight out bed. He was instantly on high alert, cautiously opening the bedroom door, only to groan and drop his head against the wall, when an all too familiar string of curses rang out.

“I was trying to find _decent_ food,” Vladimir had claimed, moving to pick up the remnants of a shattered mug, “cup got in the way.” Matt had been too annoyed to ask if it was the one Foggy had gotten him for his birthday– he’d find out sooner or later.

“Why don’t you just order something if my food is such _shit_?” Matt asked, running a hand wearily down his face. Their unconventional relationship was, more often than not, taxing, and more than a little bit irritating. But it had it’s high points– the sex, for example. Definitely a high point.

“ _See_? You did not hit head _too_ hard during last fight,” Vladimir laughed, the sound hard, but full of warmth. Matt couldn’t help but smile in return, closing his eyes and listening as Vladimir plucked his phone from the coffee table, and then proceed to call in delivery from the Thai place down the street. He paced as he talked, stoping briefly to turn up the heat a couple of degrees. Matt had quickly learned that the man could stand out in a blizzard without so much as a shiver, but that he didn’t necessarily like the cold– he tolerated it. Matt, unfortunately, was not so resistant to the chill, and as goosebumps began a slow trek up his arms, he moved toward his closet.

“Where are you going?” Vladimir asked, placing the phone back onto the counter as Matt cleared the threshold to his room.

“To get a shirt,” Matt replied as he walked to the dresser, only to stumble over his own feet at the spike of heat from behind him.

“But what if I like view?” Vladimir purred, footsteps measured and unabashedly predatory.

“Yeah, well, I’m cold,” Matt spat, though he couldn’t manage to put any bite behind the words. He did his best to ignore the warmth that suddenly pressed against his back, his hands fumbling through a dresser drawer without really taking note of what he was touching. Vladimir…was not wearing a shirt, and the feel of bare skin against bare skin was _incredibly_ distracting. “Vladimir, the food will be here…” he warned, as two scarred arms wound themselves around his waist, pulling his hands away from the clothes.

“Less clothing is better, I think. Body heat is best,” Vladimir reasoned, completely ignoring him and choosing to run his nose down the curve of Matt’s neck, placing an openmouthed kiss where his shoulder met his throat. Matt drew in a ragged breath. Well, he couldn’t really argue with that logic…

~~~~~~~

It was late afternoon by the time Matt realized that the Thai food had probably gone cold. He lay halfway on top of Vladimir, head resting on his shoulder, his left leg over Vladimir’s right. The Russian dozed softly beside him, muscles lax, one hand curled loosely against the small of Matt’s back. Matt sighed, hand flat against Vladimir’s chest, content to feel the steady beating of his heart beneath an open palm. It seemed like a lifetime ago that the heart now thrumming steadily beneath the Russian’s ribs had gone silent in an old warehouse. Matt could hardly imagine it now– there was just too much life rushing through Vladimir’s veins for his heart to go still. It was an impossibility. Deep in thought, Matt found his fingertips grazing the tattoo resting just beneath the Russian's collar bone.

It had taken a few months, but Matt had finally managed to trace, and subsequently pinpoint, every one of the ex-mobster’s tattoos. He’d had Vladimir describe each one in great detail as he traced their outlines, lingering on particular knots of scarred skin where the tattoo had obviously not been done in a shop. Vladimir shifted lightly in sleep, muttering something so unintelligible that it might’ve well as been a snore– probably was. Matt smirked, taking that as his queue.

He slowly untangled their intertwined limbs, and moved to get out bed– he needed to put the food in the fridge before it spoiled. It very well might be the last bit of Thai food he’d be able to have for a while. His irate, Russian boyfriend (they were together, right? Yes. Right.) had answered the door with one of the bed sheets wrapped around his waist, hair mussed, and donning a scowl so fierce that Matt could practically smell the delivery man’s fear from where he laid sprawled out on the bed. He didn’t think he could show his face in the restaurant for at least a month or two.

Matt’s foot had just grazed the hardwood when a hand was suddenly latched onto his wrist– grip firm and unshakeable. “Куда вы идете?” Vladimir mumbled, eyes trailing lazily up the slope of Matt’s back, the comforter slipping dangerously low on his hips.

“I still don’t speak asshole,” Matt replied, earning a chuckle rough with sleep that did absolutely nothing to him. Nope. Nothing at all.

“Stay,” Vladimir said, not a plea, nor a command– just a simple statement, filled with promises that Matt desperately wanted for the Russian to make good on.

“I need to put the food in the fridge,” Matt said, but fell back against the pillows anyway, smirking as Vladimir stretched beside him.

“Food will keep. Dick will not.” Matt laughed long and loud at that, before Vladimir’s lips were all but smothering his own, and Matt’s sounds verged down a very different avenue.

Neither left the bed until the following evening. The Thai _did_ wind up spoiled, but that was okay– he had a shitty couch, equally shitty beer, and a Russian, ex-mobster boyfriend. He was sure he could figure out another source of takeout.


	2. Stubborn Fool– Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt is nearly killed after an altercation with Fisk and Nobu, and Vladimir finds him bleeding out in their apartment. Matt ponders death and Hellfire.

“You are _fool_.” Matt strained his ears, trying to focus in on Vladimir’s voice over the sound of his own stuttering heart, the constant ‘drip, drip’ of his blood hitting the hardwood, what seemed to be the spastic thrumming of a hummingbird trapped in a cage– Vladimir fighting to quell his growing panic. Matt could only nod, the action alone making him gasp, back arching and sending a new wave of agony coursing through him.

“ _Claire_ …” Matt wheezed, clamping his jaw shut as the wound in his side stretched and pulled– he could _feel_ the skin ripping, could practically _hear_ the cells splitting apart like fraying fabric, and he fought the urge to be sick.

“On her way,” Vladimir reassured him, hands fluttering frantically in the space above Matt’s chest, wanting to help, but not knowing _how_ without injuring him further. “I told you what would happen, told you about animals in cage– you don’t _listen_ ,” Vladimir snarled, face twisting up with the ferocity only found in the desperation to keep what you love alive, but having both hands bound. He felt  _helpless,_ and it was eating him alive, his heart shriveling up between his ribs.

“–didn’t speak…asshole…back then…” Matt said, though his voice came out as a wet gurgle, a line of red trailing from the corner of his lip.

“I spoke _english_ then, _mudak_ ,” Vladimir shot back, finding the resolve to drape one hand across Matt’s forehead, fingers carding through his bangs. The mask lay discarded by the bedroom door, where Vladimir had tossed it in his temporary delirium of finding Matt bleeding out across the floor.

“Huh,” Matt sighed, Vladimir’s words failing to register. He blinked then, noting with vague detachment that he could no longer feel the tips of his fingers, or the vast expanse of his chest. He couldn’t find it in himself to be concerned; he could only find _regret_ , that he’d be leaving Vladimir alone. Matt could feel the cold leeching into his bones, could feel his heart slowing. He’d seen enough of death to know it’s grasp and calling card. The fire still raged around him as he stared up at the ceiling, and for the first time in his life he thought it fitting– after years in Hell he was finally going to experience the actual flames. His father would be so _disappointed_ –

“Matt– _Jesus_ , Matt–”

The voice shocked him back into awareness, the high pitch resonating in his ears until he could pinpoint that it was _Claire_ who had spoken. He hadn’t heard her come in; he should’ve been able to hear her exit the taxi five floors down. He suddenly had so much to say, emotion wrapping it’s fingers around his windpipe as he fought to find his lips that were beginning to go numb. “ _I’m_ –”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Claire snapped, ripping open her bag, her voice as stiff and as bitting a whip crack as she ordered Vladimir to get her various supplies– Matt only just made out the words ‘towel’ and ‘water’, and for a moment it sounded like she’d said ‘mother’. Matt felt nothing. He blinked, and Vladimir was back at his side, an irate stream of Russian spilling from between his lips as Claire administered some kind of anesthetic, the needle like an angry bee sting in the crook of Matt’s elbow.

“You’ll be… _fine_ ,” Matt wheezed, as Vladimir’s hand wrapped around his own, his fingers hanging limp in the other man’s grip. He wanted so much more than _fine_ for Vladimir, though. So much more. 

“You will not die, Matthew. I need you _stubborn_ ,” Vladimir murmured, and Matt could hear the uncertainty and abject _terror_ in his voice. He briefly thought of Vladimir’s brother, Anatoly; of Vladimir’s midnight rage, the nightmares, the empty stares on particularly bad Sunday evenings. He wanted to _stay_. He wanted to stay as badly as Vladimir wanted to die in the access tunnels, he wanted to spare Vladimir from an empty apartment, a cold bed, and haunted city streets. But, the Russian was a survivor, and Matt knew he would struggle on. There would undoubtedly be more long nights spent with a bottle in hand, but Vladimir would make it– Matt could only content himself with that. His fingers twitched, one last effort to reassure Vladimir that everything would eventually be okay, before succumbing to the anesthetics effect. His last thoughts were of Hellfire, and of calloused palms; he made peace with the fact that he would not be waking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback and commentary are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have no idea what to think of this piece. All feedback and commentary is welcome! I'm absolutely going to be writing more works featuring Matt, Vladimir, and Anatoly, all of which will (hopefully) be more comprehensive. Probably less fluffy and crack-like, too. But, then again, maybe not. I hope you enjoy! :)


End file.
